Author: overdoneandundercooked_mararn

Richard drew in a sharp breath of exasperation, “Wow. You put all your eggs in the wrong basket. Didn’t you.”  I hung my head in shame.  ‘”Jillie,” he started drawing circles on his notepad and lines and arrows.  “You. Will. Foreclose.  How much is your Mortgage.  $325,000,” I said weakly.  We need to fiqure out how many months before this will happen.”  He starts writing the coming months in big, bold letters.  “I say you have six months.  And remember, it is 2010.  “We are now in the worst recession since the ’30,s.  Do you have a divorce lawyer yet?

‘No.”

”You are in trouble here, Jillie.  Please pay attention.  Let me get you a glass of water.”  I sat there watching him maneuver through his backroom.  I could hear water come out of a faucet.  “Here you go,” he hands back to me a paper cup.  Something was rising inside of me.  Did Richard say Foreclosure?  I felt like tossing out the water and crushing up the cup and stomping on it on the floor.

I hesitated a moment, then drank all the water and smashed the cup with my fists on the table instead.  Richard did not even notice.  So busy writing on his pad and talking. “Now, what I see is that the Mortgage will not get paid.”  Richard stopped and gave me a long look and a slow, sympathetic smile. “Jillie, the only way you will get out of this mess is to re-marry.”

Re-marry.  Is this 1950 or 2010?  I am seeing how Richard sees me. Sitting in front of him is a customer who he has mostly always dealt with the husband, but now he has this dumb, uneducated housewife asking for his advice, and he already assumes because I am a dumb, uneducated housewife that I only just need a little pat pat pat on my head.

Foreclosure? Because I am just a housewife?  For the last 39 years, I have sat around on my lazy butt eating bon-bons, watching TV, reading True Confession books, letting the kids run wild!  Bull shit!  After all, I know I have one skill;  talking on the phone and booking appointments.  I will NOT lose my house in Foreclosure.  I will NOT end up and Old Wallmart Greeter or worse homeless with a shopping cart full of my meager possessions walking the streets.

I am feeling impatient.  I loved Nick and was proud of our 39 year marriage.  Right now, I am not proud of myself.  If you can no longer trust your spouse, who can you trust?

“Well, there are low-income Senior Citizen homes and best go check those out now, “Richard said and continued.  “What are you, how old are you now”.

“57.”

 

All of a sudden, I wonder about everything.  Was everything in our decades of marriage nothing but a lie?  What was real? What was fake?  How could he have hurt his daughter and me? The two people in the world who would have died for him.  Would he have ever died for us?

I finished my coffee in one big gulp, threw the cup in a recycle bin and went inside the restroom.  I clean up my tears and walk through the grocery store and head out the front door.  Richard’s Accounting office is inside an old concrete building. Built -in the 50’s today it look like a carbuncle, short and squatty next to the high rises.

Parked in his nearly empty lot I walk towards his office.  Before I could knock Richard came through his door and at once gave me a big bear hug.  “You could have hit me over the head with a bat.  I have never been more shocked” he says. “Come in, Come in, he pushes a stray gray wispy hair behind his ear. He waves me into his office, holding the door open behind him.

“Thank you, Richard, for seeing me this morning.  I’m pretty scared.” “Sit. Sit,” Richard says with emphasis.  Immediately greeting me is an extensive library desk, not a foot away from the front door and shoved against the picture window, mismatched chairs on all three sides.  Adjacent is a row of metal filing cabinets.  Law books are laid on the floor-a small table with a printer and a narrow path to the back wall.

The office smells like old newspapers.  And I guess you could say Richard was…Thrifty?  Tall, lean with rounded shoulders, he always dresses in the same white shirt with bowtie and gray slacks and black shoes.  He had done our taxes for years.  However, we had never discussed anything personally. The hug was a surprise. However, i was not going to hesitate. I had no one else I could trust with such personal information.

He reached behind him for a Kleenex box and sat down.  ‘I’m sorry, Richard. I honestly haven’t stopped crying since it started. ‘Jesus, how long have you guys been married?” He said quietly. “39 years,” I said, clutching my tissue. ‘Oh, my Gawd.  Jillie, I’m sorry.” “We eloped when I was 19.”

Richard grabs the yellow notepad and pen lying on the table. “Okay, let us get on to business.  First off, you are going to Foreclose.

I stare at him blankly, shaking my head. “NO. NO. Richard.  The property is the only retirement I have. Nick is drinking and drugging and has a whole new group of friends.  I can’t believe he will be able to hold on to his job.”

“Well, you have to face facts, Jillie.”  “Do you have a job?” “No. I work with Nick.” “Do you have a College Degree?” “No. Richard.” Nick has three degrees and three designations.  I barey finished high school.”

Monday morning and I am early to Richard’s office.  Really. Early.  I did not sleep a wink all night and kept looking at my cell to see the time.  1:OO AM  2:30AM – 4:00AM.  Finally, at 4:55AM I get up and out of bed, dog-tired.  As I brush my teeth, I study my face in the bathroom mirror.  My balloon face had calmed somewhat down.  As I am spitting out the toothpaste, washing my face, I grab my brush, put my hair up into a ponytail and brush out a few bangs.  I add a little more face powder to the bags under my eyes-a couple of coats of black mascara and a bit of lipstick.  Then I went into our walk-in closet looking for something to wear.

One side is my clothes-the other side Nicks.  My first thought is to pour gasoline on them and set them on fire.  I dig through my clothes looking for something business-like.  I chose my black pants with the seam down the middle. And a long-sleeve red blouse with matching buttons and French cuffs.  Put on black pumps. Restless and not hungry, I leave the house.

As I drive I think of all the things I want to say to Richard. And when the raio said it was only 7am I decided to grab a coffee at the grocery store near Richard’s office to wait out the 2 hours before our 9AM meeting.  There were quite a few small round tables with chairs facing a large glass case with live crabs sitting on the bottom some walking around.

So, I sat down with my coffee and drank slowly, looking at people, not use to sitting in public my myself.  I had never even eaten in a restaurant by myself. I had been with Nick since i was 16.  We eloped at 19 and Nick was 21.  Wed by a minister of the new truth who read from The Propet Kalin Kabil as we stood in a farmers field that said when we ased him he said he reckoned it was ok with him for us to get married in his field.

I was digging thru my purse, where I usually keep a notepad and pencil. A list maker, it was the only way i could keep track of my life, our life, us. So, lost I hadonly grabbed a clutch and threw in my license, lipstick and keys.  I was squirming in my sit, feeling so uncomfortable I dropped my napkin when i lookd back up.  I notice a Crab had fallen over onto it’s back.  It’s tiny legs are floundering.  Feeling sad, I wish I could put my hand in the water and flip it over.

Unexpectedly, another Crab starts to approach it.  I watch how it slowly gets closer and closer then stops and reaches out its claw.  The suffering crab clutches it and together the Crab is pulled up until it is standing.  I nearly choke on my coffee.  At once, I burst into tears. I could not believe what i just saw.  Do even Crustaceans help each other in their time of need.

Would my husband have ever saved me?

Into the middle of the living room floor, I slumped down.  I gathered my knees tight to my chest and started to rock back and forth.  I can’t catch my breath.  I feel like today’s weather, white sky with bits of blue.  No sunshine.  No rain. But Mediocre dull.

And, now, I’m sad and angry.  Nick isn’t coming home.  I’m not even getting a chance to save our marriage or…Him.  Nick could not give up the love of his live .

Marijuana.

His necessity.  His enhancer.  For years and I always believed him when he said.  “He had quit.”

Our life together is no longer something we can work out.

” WAIT I forgot to tell you I was so nervous”, I said to Sheriff Matson. The grifter was sleeping with all the Band members.  She was borrowing large amounts of money and had a routine moving into their houses and then convincing them to go bankrupt.

And today I got this:  I reached for my laptop on the kitchen table and open it to the treatening email. It said:  Email me the following:  All credit card accounts, house bills-every bill we have with account balances, ID’S and passwords, Social Security numbers and any secret codes like ‘Mother’s maiden names.”

I took a deep breath and said to the officer, “As if my husband doesn’t know my Mother’s maiden name.”  There’s faint bitterness in my voice.  And I regret it instantly.

“Ma’am,” he said, frowning, looking right into my eyes as he closed the lid to the laptop.  “Your husband is an adult.  He can give his email address to anyone he wants.  If his new girlfriend wrote this message, and…”

“But…I interrupted.  ”This new group of people that Nick hangs with now.  For all I know they could have him tied up in the basement.  It, uh, it….could be a meth lab.”

I wanted to drop through the kitchen floor.  I was as articulate as a prettified log.  But, unfortunately, my tongue is stumbling on words.  I’m too ashamed to say our loud and now forced too. I didn’t know what to do.  I didn’t know what to say.  I couldn’t stop the tears.

“He is in a bad part of town. He is living in her ex-husband’s house the three!! of them together.  They drink. I worry there are bad drugs there.”

Sheriff Matson cleared his throat.  “I can send an Officer over to their address. However, we have no reason to go to the door.  The best thing will be if they get caught drinking.  Then, we could take him in custody.  The problem here is even if you got him in re-hab, his new crowd of buddies would be standing at the exit door waiting for his release with beers and joints in both hands.”

The Sheriff shruggd his shoulders and gestured with both hands palms up as if saying, “What can you do?”   “Ma’am you are in trouble!  He is playing dirty. You need a lawyer.  I suggest you change the locks. But realize that he is still the owner of this house.  If he brakes a window to get in, he can do as he pleases because he owns the house too.

“Thank you.”  I lean back against the kitchen chair.  I appreciate that so much.” For a moment, the Sheriff hesitated, and then he continued. “And, well, I would consider moving fast in getting a lawyer and a restraining and financia order.  As you said, you told me your husband has a gun.  Also, because my thought is the girlfriend would much more like to live here.  It is a beautiful place.”

“One more thing,” he said as he leaped to his feet.  “I suggest you find a Divorce Recovery group.  They are in Churches mostly.  He nods his head. ‘Right. Well, I’ll leave you then.”  I walked him to the front door.  He let himself out then turned around.  He took a step back and looked at me, smiling.  Then, he said, heavily with much feeling. “It’s a shame that you will foreclose.

Have a good day, Ma’am.  As calm a voice as possible, I answered. “You too sir.”

Numb.  I closed the door.  I walked into the living room, looking at the floor-to-celiling windows that bring in abundant natural light.  I watched as Sheriff Matson’s police car went down the driveway and out of my sight.

I couldn’t move.  I stood still, staring out the living room window.

House eerily quiet.

 

“Call the Police, Mom.”  My daughter’s words are pounding in my ears.

Call the Police.  Call the Police.  I keep thinking of our business.  I don’t want to hurt my Husband or his reputation.  NO.  STOP IT.   Think.  Do it Now.  Deal with your fear later.  I hold my breath paralyzed with embarrassment spewing out tears and panic words to the Operator on the 911 Call.

Restless, waiting with no idea when the Police Officer would arrive.  I make coffee.  I pour myself a cup before it has finished brewing.  And sat at the kitchen table and worried.

The knock on the front door shook my thoughts away.  No one else was expected, so it must be the Police.

I push away from the table.  Put my coffee cup in the sink and walk to the front door.  I had never seen a Police Officer up close.  In the car many  times. Nick ceaselessly getting traffic tickets.  Nick pulled over and was given citations never tried to be polite.  No, he was nasty and always got the Ticket. I uses to say to Nick; you get more flies with sugar than vinegar.

I open the front door.  There stood a big life-size Officer in full uniform.  Acessorized with handcuffs, gun, badge and spit polish shoes.  He introduced himself as Sheriff Matson.  He handed me his card and shook my hand.  I noticed a bit of gray on the short side of his flat-top haircut.

I smiled and introduced myself.  He did  not return my smile.  ‘Follow me, please, and we will go into the kitchen.”  I said, wishing I was  doing the right thing.  We both sat down at the kitchen table at the same time.  I am tearing up and trying to hold it in.  I said quietly.  “I’ve never called the Police before.”

Sheriff Matson nodded.  ‘Would you like some coffee?  I asked.  “No , thank you, Ma’am.  But you go ahead if you’d like some.”  I shook my head no.

It’s okay Ma’am.  I’m here to help you. Now, tell me your situation.”  He pulled out a small notepad and pen from his uniform.

I turn my face away and say a High School friend of my husband (a Bass Player in a Band) asked him to help him get rid of a band groupie.  “She was a known Meth Addict, Alchoholic, and Gambler.”

I took a deep breath looking at the table, not the Officer.  “I woke up one day and my husband had moved in with the grifter in her ex-husband’s house. The three of them are living together.”

Two days later, I got this,”  Reaching for my laptop on the kitchen table.  I open it to the threatening email.

Without asking, I read it out loud to the Officer.

I can’t do what Nick does.  I’m not the personality.  He has the education.  I just booked the events.  The only real skill I have ever had seems to be talking on the phone.  I learned that my smile was my best asset a long time ago, and I guess the adage smile when you dial is me.  I look at the calender.  The March bills.  BILLS.  Oh my God, I have to get the money out of the bank account NOW before she does.

Where would I put the money?  I need to put it in a safe place.  PAIGE!  Our  college-age daughter Paige I had opened her a bank account. Nick never paid any attention to the bills; he would not even know where it is at.

I have to call Paige.  Our daughter away at college.  I have to call her now. The first thing she said after I stopped babbling and crying was.

“Who will walk me down the aisle.”

At that moment, It was like the World was Silenced.

“Mom?”

“Mom”, call the Police.  It is identity fraud, it is against the law.  Call them right now to see if they can help us.  Then run to your bank accounts, withdraw all the money, and put it into my account.”

“I will move the money out of your joint account and make you go bankrupt.”

For God’s sake, this woman she wants my life!  My house.  My husband.  My money.  My Jaguar.  It took me 38 years to get any of this.  I’ll be damn if she gets anything!

I feel panic and indignation.  Does she think I’m stupid and would send my family’s Social Security numbers over the internet in an e-mail?

Where the hell is Nick?  What has he done?  Why is he with these people?  For all I know he could be tied up in their basement while they make Meth.  This is nuts!

I look at the landline phone there are voice messages.  I play them.  There are two messages both inquiring about work for Nick.  It’s Wednesday, three days into the work week.  I can’t even look at our business emails.  What the hell would I say to clients on the phone?

How drunk can Nick be that he has forgotten about work?

“Let’s begin via email.  It avoids any unnecessary emotions.  I know financially we have much to talk about.”

Let’s start here.  Email me the following:  All credit card accounts, house bills-every bill we have with account balances.  ID’S and passwords, social security numbers, and any secret codes like “mother’s” maiden name.

Are you staying in the house? Your job search is important as well.  “Nick.”

WTF!  Social Security numbers?  Mother’s maiden name?  As if Nick wouldn’t know my mother’s maiden name. Jesus Christ this is the grifter writing on her computer for money!!

This is ridiculous.  Am I staying in the house?!  What does that mean?  Oh God, I know what that means…she wants in the house!!

My thoughts seem stuck, as if I was sucking on a straw, wanting that last drop stuck on empty.  I slam down the laptop’s lid, shove the chair into the desk, and walk outside and into the barn.

I go through Nick’s office drawers throwing paper everywhere.  Then I walk to the other side of the wall where all his tools are.  I pick up one.  I never use tools.  Nick is the handyman who can fix anything.  I’m the cook who saves us money shopping with coupons.

I look at it and throw it against the wall as hard as I can.  Then I pick up another and another until every tool is either stuck in the wall or has put a large hole in the wall.

Hmmm, my head feels much clearer now.  I take a deep breath! I look around me. I see a mixed match of nails, tools, and a lock on a table.

A LOCK!  luckly the key was in it with more tools and a lock, etc.  So when I left the barn I put the lock on the door.

It has only been four days…4 days since that Bastard moved to the shady part of town.  And now his girlfriend, grifter, drunk (whoever the hell she is) is demanding money!

That fucking bitch.  How much work and time can you put into husbands that want to be Bad.

I don’t go near the computer until the next day.

In the morning, I open the laptop.  I immediately go to the email and I can’t open it?

I then try all our personal emails. Then the business emails. They are all locked.

We never had passwords or security questions; it was just us. Now all our emails have been hacked???

My cell is flashing a text.

With a phone number. I do not know.

 

“Telling me what?”  What is it Eric?”

Talking to him was like pushing a door that says pull.

He shifted in his seat and looked over his shoulder.

“But…I knew they were together.”

“What do you mean…together?” “The three of you.”

“He drew himself up, took a deep breath, and said, “Back last summer, when you went out of town.  Stormy and I came over to your house.”

“Yeah.”

“And…well, we had been drinking for months.”

“You and Stormy had been drinking for months, so..?

“The three of us.”

“What do you mean? The three of you.”

“Nick and Me and Stormy.”

“No.  Nick doesn’t like beer.”

“No. We were drinking hard stuff.”

Trying to digest this news, I finally said, “What do you mean for months?”

“Well, Nick would come over late at night, and the three of us would get drunk.”

“Get drunk? Like in High School?”

“Wait!  Wait a minute.  Late at night ?  How late?  Where was I?” Almost screaming in a panic my voice.

“I don’t know.” Eric said with both of his hands in the air.

“So you’re saying he came over like once a week.”

“NO”

“WHAT?”

“EVERY NIGHT.”

“EVERY NIGHT!!!”

“WHAT?” I’m trying to wrap my head around this news.

We never had hard liquor in the house.

ALL Of A SUDDEN:   My wonderful luncheon with Cecelia appeared in my MOUTH!!!

And I threw up all over me, and the steering wheel, and the floor mat, etc.

“Oh, Shit, Jillie for God’s sake.

Eric, cried out.”

“I havent told you what happened.”

“WHAT! WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?” I screamed and burst into tears, trying to wipe the throw up off the dashboard with my hand.

“We had a three-way in the barn.”